Runaways: Book II

VI

A gray wall.
That's all my dreams were now.
A static gray, soft like a watercolor painting, but dull like those old-time movies in black and white.
I was surrounded by numbness—comfortable, bittersweet, and discontent.
A rhythmic swaying and sounding of heavy clacks pulled me back into the real world. Scenery was flashing past me and I soon remembered I was on the train, hurtling toward Annapolis.
I had absolutely no idea how to get Bo out of that Medical Research Center or what the hell was going on with Hank and the Professor and whoever this Logan guy was. My life was sort of a swirling tornado, but the serum made it feel like I was outside looking in at all the chaos. But in reality I was at its very center.
An ear-piercing screech sounded from beneath the train. The intercom buzzed on, and a voice masked by electronic static stated,
"Ladies and gentlemen we're experiencing some mechanical difficulties. We should be up and running again in about thirty minutes."
And before I knew it thirty minutes turned into sixty, then two hours, then four. Everyone on the train was furious and tired, and the employees were rushing around frantically trying to keep everyone from going totally ballistic on the train company.
The electronic voice returned,
"We apologize for the major delay. We ask that all patrons disembark this train and transfer to a train car headed to Washington D.C., where a complementary ticket to any destination will be issued to everyone. Again, we apologize and will do all we can to aid you in your travels."
My stomach dropped and I involuntarily stated at full volume,
"Shit. You have got to be kidding me."
A woman with a little girl on her lap shot me a disapproving look, but I didn't care. I was too enraged by the irony the universe had just stabbed into my chest. There was one city in the whole entire world I was avoiding, and it just so happened to be the layover destination of the freak breakdown of this one specific train I happened to board. I wasn't sure if God existed, but if he did, he sure had a sadistic sense of humor.
A handful of attendants shuffled us all off and onto another train car, leaving behind the empty shell of any hope I had of not reliving my past. At least one thing was for sure: there was no way Peter could know I was back in the city—a benefit of not making many connections in your hometown. The only thing I had to control was my own desire to see him, and I had a bottle full of suppressants for that.
The train made a stop at a small town, not too far from Washington D.C. I climbed down the narrow and steep metal stairs if the train car and slipped a dime into a payphone.
There were a couple of rings on the other line until Hank picked up,
"Hello?"
"Hank, it's ___. Look are you still in D.C.?"
"Yeah, just for tonight though. We fly to Paris tomorrow morning. What happened? Are you still on your way to Annapolis?"
"I was until the train broke down. The layover is taking me to D.C." I said in a frustrated tone.
"Well, no worries right? It's not like D.C is the worst city in the world."
"I beg to differ."
"What? What's the big deal about D.C.? Have you even been here?"
I hesitated, then sighed as I confessed,
"I grew up in D.C...and there's just some people and places I wouldn't care to revisit."
"Oh, well no worries. We can pick you up from the train station. We'll give you the car tomorrow before our flight so you can drive the rest of the way."
"Thanks, Hank. You're the best."
"No problem. See you in a couple hours."
Hours seemed to pass by without my noticing, and the Washington skyline was illuminated against the night outside my window. I followed a narrow line of passengers off the train and walked out in front of the massive station.
A high-pitched honk from a red Buick Riviera sounded and I snapped my attention to a car with Hank in the passenger seat and a man with spiked hair and sunglasses in the driver's.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and clicked the back door open, filing into the backseat.
The Professor was in the middle, fast asleep with his head tilted backwards. Another person was to his left, nodding his head to the music flowing out from his headphones and staring out the window.
I dropped my bag with a smack on the pavement.
"Peter?"